


A' for lo'e

by jamlockk



Series: Alba!lock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coming In Pants, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Insecure Sherlock, Kilts, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Virgin Sherlock, gaelic, scots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/pseuds/jamlockk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after John slung Sherlock over his shoulders and headed for the bedroom at the end of "A lo'e a' plaid"....</p>
            </blockquote>





	A' for lo'e

**Author's Note:**

> Due to popular demand here's what the boys got up to! Hope you enjoy...

Afterwards, Sherlock lay cocooned in John's arms, reflecting as John dozed that once again he'd been proven right about the man he loved. John was always interesting, but whatever Sherlock had expected of John as a lover it hadn't been that. The tartan scratched deliciously at his bare arse as he shifted in John's hold, wriggling in closer. He shivered thinking of it, remembering the waves of pleasure washing through his body, and felt his heart swell when John unconsciously tightened his arms around him at the feel of his shivering. 

Somehow John had managed to make being slung across another man's shoulders like a fairytale damsel feel romantic, not silly, so when he laid Sherlock down onto the bed and stepped back Sherlock had been unprepared to see the searing desire in John's eyes. He was quite sure his own matched and for once made no attempt to conceal it. He was rewarded with a flash of surprise on John's face as he took in just how deeply he was wanted. Growling low in his throat, John dived onto the bed and captured Sherlock's mouth in a fierce, demanding kiss. 

Struggling to keep up and kissing back just as hard, Sherlock revelled in the feel of John's lips against his own, John's hands roaming everywhere. He couldn't help the moan that loosed from him when John's fingers tangled in his hair, tilting his head to allow John to press hot kisses along his jaw and down the line of his neck. 

His own fingers fumbled with the bow tie and, flinging it clear began to work on the shirt buttons. John chuckled into his neck and pulled back, sitting up to gaze down at Sherlock, sprawled beneath him and breathing unsteadily. 

"Sherlock, have you done any of this before? Um, I mean, are you..." John trailed off. 

Knowing his face was flushing red and feeling some of his desire wilt sadly, Sherlock turned away and went stock still. Was this it then? Was this as far as John was willing to take this? Clearly the fact that Sherlock was... unpracticed in such matters was the breaking point. He'd experience with self-pleasure of course (one did not live with loving John Watson for any length of time without indulging oneself in fantasies ending in, up to now, dull release and self-pitying despair), but his experience with others was very limited. Lost in his thoughts Sherlock felt that familiar despair creeping into him like cold winter air. 

A hand cupping his face brought him back to awareness. John was looking at him with such sweet tenderness in his expression as to make Sherlock feel as though his heart may burst with it. John gently pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead, the tip of his nose, each cheekbone, finally his lips. 

"We can go at any pace you're happy with, and I will love every second of being with you," John murmured against Sherlock's mouth. Then he sat back and shrugged the dress shirt from his shoulders. He reached down and, at Sherlock's tentative nod, carefully unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt. John gestures for Sherlock to sit up and let him take off the crumpled suit jacket and shirt. Sherlock complied, watching John's face for any signs of regret or reluctance. 

No such sign ever came. John moved to undo and take off Sherlock's trousers, shoes and socks with the same bright adoration in his eyes as he'd had since they'd first kissed what seemed like years ago now. He slowly and carefully undressed Sherlock as though he were unwrapping a delicate, treasured gift. 

Taking off his own brogues, socks, the sporran, waistcoat and belt, leaving him just in the kilt, John kissed him soundly and then settled Sherlock back onto the bed. He traced a hand across Sherlock's chest and stomach, down his thighs, over his arms, up into his hair, and curling his fingers into the dark waves lifted Sherlock's face to his to kiss him again. 

"You're exquisite," John said softly between kisses. "I want you to feel everything, you deserve everything I can give you. Will you let me love you?" 

Unable to speak as John continued stroking and kissing his body, Sherlock nodded. He felt John's smile on his flesh, goosebumps rising as John bestowed kisses and the occasional light swipe of tongue on as much skin as he could. 

"Just a sec then, brèagha," John leaned back and his hand went to the buckle at his side. Sherlock's eyes flew open and he sprang up to grasp John's fingers and stop him. 

"Don't," he breathed, "I.... Leave it?" 

John smiled again, bringing Sherlock's hand up to kiss his knuckles. "Nae bather," he said. 

Their kisses grew steadily deeper and Sherlock's confidence increased as John encouraged him to explore. Sherlock found his hands wandering all over John, trying to catalogue all the sensations his touch produced both in John and himself. The gradually building pleasure was becoming overwhelming and Sherlock began to panic that he hadn't even done anything for John yet. 

He struggled to clamp down on the feelings singing through his veins, to concentrate on the feel of John in his arms and stop himself reaching his peak too soon. John kept up a constant stream of Scots and Gaelic in his ear, his voice soft and husky with arousal, his gentle touch setting Sherlock's very skin afire. Studiously avoiding touching Sherlock's boxers or their contents, John kissed every other inch of the body exposed beneath him. 

Suddenly he brushed high up on the inside of Sherlock's thigh with his tongue and Sherlock was lost. His climax swept through him, his back arching and mouth open in a breathless "oh". It seemed to last an age, waves of the rush finally dissipating, leaving him trembling and boneless on top of the sheets. 

Sherlock gradually came back to himself and immediate flushed crimson. He'd come in his pants like a horny teenager. John hadn't even touched his cock. And.... oh god. He hadn't even touched John. The shame crowded in and pushed out any pleasure still swirling through him. It felt cold and he tried to curl himself up away from John. An iron but gentle grip on his wrist stopped him. 

Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the opposite wall, Sherlock felt prickles behind his eyes. This just got more and more humiliating. 

"Sherlock, look at me," John's voice was soft, almost pleading. "Please Sherlock, look at me."

Harshly scolding himself and screaming inside his head to get a fucking grip, Sherlock snapped his eyes up to meet John's. 

"I told you, you're exquisite. You're everything and I've never seen something so gorgeous. So please stop freaking out, okay?" 

Sherlock frowned, searching John's face for insincerity, mocking, disappointment. Finding none, he blinked slowly. 

"What is it, brèagha?" 

Biting his lip, Sherlock gestures towards the kilt. "May I?" he asked. 

John sucked in a breath and for an instant all of Sherlock's concerns and insecurities raised their ugly heads once more. 

"Please," John breathed. He lay back beside Sherlock and unbuckled the kilt, letting the rough tartan fall away. 

Sherlock held his eyes but his curiosity won over so he glanced down and.... 

Oh. Oh. Fuck. 

John was true. 

Sherlock felt his mouth water as he took in all of John spread out on a tartan blanket next to him. There was a lot of data to gather but the main focus of Sherlock's attention was John's sizeable erection, proudly curving up towards his tummy. 

Swallowing, Sherlock lifted his head to catch John's eyes again. The same tenderness was overflowing from his face and Sherlock instantly resolved that he would do anything he could do to make John look like that all the time. 

"What... What can I do?" 

John chuckled and reached up to card through Sherlock's hair again. 

"Anything you want," he said, smiling. 

Crushing any remaining nerves Sherlock gently rested his hand on John's thigh, then moved up to stroke along his erection just once. The gasp this elicited from John caused Sherlock to immediately repeat the action, only with more confidence. Slowly, he wrapped his long fingers into a fist and sped up his strokes. 

John was breathing heavily now, soft burbles of Scots and Gaelic falling from his lips. Fascinated and thrilled in equal measures, Sherlock tightened his grip just a little. 

John cried out, lips trying to form Sherlock's name as he came in hot spurts over Sherlock's hand and his own stomach. 

Twitching away from Sherlock's grasp when he became too sensitive, John pressed his hands over his eyes. He lifted them off just in time to see Sherlock drag his tongue through the mess on his hand, tasting John and closing his eyes in delight. 

"Oh fuck, dinnae!" John laughed, "Ah cannae go again yet but if ye keep daen' 'at ah winnae hae a choice!"

Sherlock grinned wolfishly and flopped back down onto the bed. John gathered the cast-off dress shirt and swiped it over his belly, cleaning off the worst of the mess. He pulled a face, mumbling an apology about not being able to return all the elements of the kilt outfit. Sherlock snorted. 

"It's fine John, you're keeping the kilt. I'll order more shirts," he said, raising one eyebrow. 

"Clearly I didnae ken jist hoo much ye like a Scotsman in a kilt then," John replied. Sherlock hummed, thinking about John being able to go again soon. 

"Maybe I'll order a ghillie shirt too," he mused. 

John just laughed again and gathered Sherlock into his arms. He felt lips pressing onto his head and John's breathing eventually evened out as he fell into a doze. 

Happier than he ever thought he could feel, Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. John probably didn't hear him when he spoke last. 

"Besides, it's Mycroft's account."

**Author's Note:**

> Brèagha - beautiful


End file.
